


Good Friends Are Like The Stars

by RoaringMice



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Friendship/Action/Adventure, Gen, Malcolm Saves the Day, Malcolm Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26941963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoaringMice/pseuds/RoaringMice
Summary: Where in the bloody hell was everyone? No one had responded to that explosion – either they were all locked up somewhere on board – which seemed unlikely, because surely the captors would have come to investigate – or Malcolm was the only person left on the ship.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started a part time grad program in August, in addition to still working full time, in addition to having two of my part time jobs start back up, and got wicked busy! I have had this story half done since August, and I'm only now kicking myself in the butt hard enough to get it done.

Malcolm landed hard on the floor of the bridge. He was sweating, and he suspected he was delirious, because he could hear voices – yet he knew there wasn’t a soul there.

Rolling over onto his back, he tried pushing himself up, getting only as far as his elbows before he had to stop. Still, he was upright enough that he could recon the room around him. It looked like a storm had come through the place. Debris everywhere, chairs tipped over, consoles overturned; but no sign of anyone. He slumped back down to the floor, eyes half open, the room swirling.

Laughter rose around him. And then a voice.

_“And then he said, and I quote, ‘What hat?’”_

_As Malcolm’s eyes came up from the padd he’d been reading, he saw Travis bent over with laughter, both arms on the table for support as Hoshi snickered beside him._

_“There’s no way that’s true,” Travis said between laughs._

_“It is!” Trip replied, tears coming to his eyes as he spoke._

Malcolm’s head spun as he tried to stay conscious. He remembered this conversation…

_Trip’s voice came again. “He was so damn proud of it, too!”_

He well recalled this conversation. He’d not been on Enterprise for long at that point; perhaps only a week or so into his service on the ship when, during his first meal with Trip, to his surprise, Trip had invited the junior officers to join them. He remembered how uncomfortable he’d felt, how he’d buried himself in his padd; although he kept an ear to the conversation around him as he tried to suss out the situation. Inviting junior officers to join one at mealtime – that was not something the senior officers had done in his past assignments, but Trip’s informality, he later learned, was indicative of the overall command style on Enterprise. The joking, being friends with others on the ship - it took some getting used to on his part.

He remembered Trip moving on from his joke and asking Travis and Hoshi how they liked serving on Enterprise so far. Travis began speaking about some of the differences between Enterprise and the Boomer ship he’d been raised on. How nervous Hoshi had seemed in those first weeks and months on board. He remembered – this conversation was when he’d learned she’d been a professor at a university before the Captain had convinced her to join up. He recalled being worried about her inexperience, and at the same time, impressed by her courage. He’d vowed to keep a careful eye on her. He’d…

_“And the only thing he ended up wearing was that damn hat!” Travis said, unable to keep himself from chuckling at his own story. Trip waved a frantic hand in front of his face as he rocked back, guffawing._

Wait, Malcolm thought. This was a different conversation. Recent. Earlier today…

_Hoshi laughed out loud, holding a hand up over her mouth as if it could help keep her laughter inside. She leaned forward across the table. “I have only one question, Travis,” she said, merriment clear in her eyes._

_Travis leaned forward as well, nodding encouragingly._

_Hoshi pointed a finger at the table, tapping it with each word. “What. Color. Was. The. Hat?”_

And at this, Trip nearly fell off his chair, and even Malcolm couldn’t help but smile. It had taken him a good while to be comfortable with the informal atmosphere on Enterprise, and with the idea of having friends full stop, never mind friends of different ranks. How he’d changed. How they’d changed – the difference in Hoshi alone was remarkable. He was about to chime in with his own comment when he heard a loud grinding, and the lights flickered and dimmed. Then silence. He met Trip’s eye. The engines had stopped. Malcolm held his breath, then the familiar hum of the engines came again.

“What the hell?” Travis said.

Trip was already on his feet. “I’ll check engineering.”

The alert claxons rang through the mess hall, and everyone in the room seemed to stand at once, people moving in different directions to the exits. Malcolm was nearly to the door when the ship jerked. He was knocked back and down. His head hit the deck, hard, and –

Malcolm came to with a gasp, and a quick turn onto his hands and knees. As his nausea rose, he paused there for a moment, breathing slowly, head hanging. He could smell something sharp, like burnt wiring. Blinking to clear his vision, his head swam. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. He felt like he’d dreamt – What had happened? It had felt like an explosion; something internal to the ship, rather than an external attack. Hand to the chair beside him, he pushed himself to his feet, using the table as support.

And that’s when he noticed two things: the room was dead silent, and he was the only person in it.


	2. Chapter 2

Malcolm stumbled to the comm. on the wall. “Reed to armoury,” he said, his voice shaking. With no response, he straightened up, inhaled, then steadier, tried, “Reed to bridge.” No response. Not promising. He had no idea where everyone was, but staying here would not help. A faltering step to the door, which surprised him by working, opening smoothly before him. He stepped into the corridor, feeling steadier with each step. Armoury first, then the bridge. The lifts – he exhaled a soft prayer as he waited for them to respond; he was in no shape for ladders. When the lift arrived, he entered, and turned to face the door with relief, of a sort. The ship was functioning; there had to be clues as to where the crew was. Out of the lift, down the hall, one hand to the wall for surety.

He was nearly at the armoury door when he heard a crunching growl, a deep mechanical groan coming from somewhere nearby. A warning claxon sounded, then cut off. Then a whoosh, and before he could react, the door in front of him flew past. A rush of pressure pushed him back and down. Something landed on him, pinning his arm, and he couldn’t help but scream at the impact, the pain when it hit. The deck below him shook, then settled, and trying to control his panic, heart beating madly, he tried to push the thing on him away with his free hand, to no avail. The bloody thing had him pinned – a console, it was one of the consoles from the armoury, the sharp edge digging into his skin, its weight crushing his forearm. Struggling to push the console away, he managed to lift it just slightly – not enough to free his arm; just enough to hurt.

Fuck him from a height, that hurt.

He was well stuck. His only way out would be by sliding out from under it, which would likely just make things worse with his arm, but he had no choice. Waiting here, when he wasn’t sure if anyone would come, was not an option. He needed to find out where everyone had gone. Or who had taken them. Pressing both legs as best he could against the console, he used his free hand to grasp his trapped arm, pulling it out from under the device as he lifted the console with his legs. He ignored – or tried to – the way the console’s edge cut into his arm as he pulled the limb out, and as he lowered the console back down, he refused to look at the arm, instead grasping it with his functioning hand as he wiggled out from under.

He struggled to his feet. The comm. - the one outside the armoury. He could see it through the smoke. Tucking his injured arm against his body with a hiss, he lifted a bloody hand, wiping it on his uniform, then to his eyes, wiping them, then to the comm. He gave a shaky exhale. No response. Of course, of course.

The bridge, then. That meant up. Hopefully the lifts were still working, because he was in no shape for a climb.

He turned toward the armoury door, supporting his battered arm with the other as he moved. Where in the bloody hell was everyone? No one had responded to that explosion – either they were all locked up somewhere on board – which seemed unlikely, because surely the captors would have come to investigate – or he was the only person left on the ship.

Had they abandoned ship? That didn’t seem likely – he’d been surrounded by people in the mess, they wouldn’t have left him there. So, the only thought was that they’d been taken, and their being taken was likely related to whatever had caused the first explosion. His priority had to be arming himself.

He slumped against wall outside the armoury, head down, using the wall to keep himself from falling. All wanted he to do was sleep. Instead, he pushed himself away from the wall. Ducking down against the smoke, he scrambled along the floor to the weapons locker, grabbing a phase pistol, which he pocketed; then went for a shock grenade, then his favorite knife, shoving them down into his boots. Only what he could realistically carry.

Next, his injuries. He couldn’t do what needed done in his current state. It hurt, he couldn’t think, he could barely move. Sickbay was one deck up. Same deck as the mess. All right, he could do this. The lift. The corridor. Not so far. He could make it.

Using his shoulder against the wall as support, he worked his way down the corridor, into the lift, down another corridor, to sickbay, each step slower than the last, each one increasing the pounding in his head, the throbbing in his arm. Finally reaching the infirmary, he grabbed a skein of bandage from a counter as he headed for the nearest seat. Proping himself on of one of the counters, he wrapped the bandage around his arm. Blood came through it quickly. Reaching down, he slid open a drawer and pulled out one of Phlox’s magical splints. Applying it hurt like fuck, to quote Trip, but he got the bloody thing on. Deep breath, then he tried to stand, nearly passing out from that alone. He steadied himself with a quick hand to the counter, head down, trying to breathe slowly and evenly.

One arm was useless, his head was pounding, and his body was clearly telling him he should not be doing this. But he had no choice. He needed to keep going, no matter what the cost. After a moment, he lifted his head slowly, and took one step, then another, finally reaching a specific one of Phlox’s drawers. He rummaged through until he found what he needed. His fingers closed around the hypo he’d been looking for. Knowing this was a very bad idea, but also knowing he needed to stay on his feet, he first gave himself one dose of stimulants, then, after a moment of thought-not-thought, a second. Hand already shaking, he dropped that device to the floor and grabbed a second hypo, dosing himself with one of of Phlox’s special pain killers.

All right, that was – Malcolm blinked quickly, and straightened up. Okay, now he was super wicked awake, eyes wide open, blood on fire, and feeling very little pain. Still couldn’t move his arm. Didn’t matter. For as long as this lasted, he was good enough. Okay he – now – he needed to go – to go to the bridge. That’s where he needed to be. The bridge was – okay, he was in sickbay, so the bridge was up. He started walking quickly, then stumbled, and laughed.

Oh, good lord, this stuff was – right, the bridge. This stuff was fantastic. The lift, to the – to the lift, then up, and it opened onto the bridge. Still no one. Stupid claxons still going off, really should come up with a name for them, he’d invented the bloody things. Trip had suggested “Reed Alert”. Give them a name if only to prevent that particular name from sticking. Maybe find a way for them to be a bit less annoying as well. He slapped them into silence.

All right, he was on the bridge. Now – he needed – there was a reason why he’d wanted to get to the bridge. Right, the damn – the bloody computer. See if he could trace back, see what had happened to everyone.

There was a flash near the viewscreen, and as his head shot up, there were five aliens there. A species he didn’t recognize. Each a different shade of green. Tall. Humanoid. They saw him just as he did them, and started shouting something at him just as he said, “Fuck” and took a step backwards. He had no idea what they were saying – apparently, the translator was not working. But he fully understood their intentions when they raised their weapons and pointed them at him. The center alien didn’t even hesitate – he fired before Malcolm could react.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being four chapters, rather than the three I'd originally thought; so one more after this one.

Malcolm fell to his knees, then toppled onto his back. Eyes open, he lay there. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe, he thought in a panic. He - One of the aliens came over, and kicked him in the side, none too lightly, probably to check if he was out or dead. Malcolm couldn’t respond. The alien patted his pockets down, taking the pistol, but not even checking his boots. That alien moved out of his field of vision, and then all he could see was the ceiling.

Finally, he managed to pull in a breath. Maybe the stimulants were helping him. Despite them he could feel the pull, his body wanting to take this opportunity to shut down, to sleep or worse, but he absolutely refused. He had to focus. Focus not on the pain in his side, where the alien had kicked him. Not on the pounding in his head, his scattered thoughts, from injury or the stimulants. Not on the pain in his arm. But on his one good hand. He felt those fingers twitch. His legs, he tried to move, and after a moment they did. The aliens didn’t seem to be checking him – perhaps the stimulants were helping him recover more quickly than they’d expected, or perhaps it was because he was of an unfamiliar species, so their weapon wasn’t as effective as they were used to it being. He clenched his hand into a fist, then released it.

He turned his head slightly so he could see what was going on. The aliens were gathered around the helm, their backs to him. Careless. They probably wanted the ship. They were likely who took his crew. When he saw them all look down at the helm, seeming to be trying to figure out how to work it, he grabbed the side of the nearest chair and pulled himself to his feet slowly, so as not to attract their attention. He wavered, then steadied. He bent down and pushed a hand into his boot. Ducking behind the chair, using it as a shield, he threw the shock grenade in front of them, and it went off in a blast of sound and light. There were shouts as he took advantage of their confusion to scramble forward, his injured arm tucked against his body. He darted up to the one who’d shot him, who might have been their leader, the stimulants forcing him forward and fast. And for that alien, his knife. At his throat. Then Malcolm was talking, hoping that the aliens had their own translators.

“Give me my bloody crew back,” Malcolm spat out, knife shaking in his hand. He took a step forward, closing the distance between himself and the alien, despite the fact that meant his injured arm was being pressed against the alien’s back. He cut the alien’s skin a bit, to show he was serious. And he was, so damn serious. One part of him realized he was acting a bit on edge, risky, not quite himself, the other didn’t care; he suspected the drugs. Didn’t care about that, either.

One of the aliens said something, and went to tap a device on his chest.

“Careful,” Malcolm said, flicking with his knife, widening the cut. “Weapons down, please. Slowly.”

As the aliens lowered their weapons to the deck, Malcolm nodded, giving them his best smile. “You can contact your people now.”

One alien lifted his hand cautiously, then tapped his device and spoke into it. He waved at Malcolm.

Then Malcolm spoke, explaining exactly what he’d do to these intruders if his crew weren’t returned right quick.

Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw a flash, then people on the bridge. His people. They froze when they saw Malcolm there with the aliens.

Malcolm heard Archer’s voice from somewhere nearby, “Lieutenant?”

He didn’t move, knife still pressed to the neck of the alien. He could tell this was his crew, but it was as if he couldn’t focus enough to make out who, exactly, they were. The dark hair might be brave Hoshi, no longer cowering when faced with a frightening situation. And the tall man Archer, harder now than he’d been when the mission had started. The others were a mass of blue uniforms.

“Malcolm, you can let him go now.” Archer again.

Malcolm blinked. Exhaled loudly.

Archer’s voice again, from a bit closer; quieter this time, “You can let him go.”

“All right,” Malcolm said. “Okay.” He lowered the knife and stepped away from the alien. Ducking down, he went to tuck the knife into his boot. He felt someone touch the shoulder of his bad arm, and he flinched away with a hiss, waving the knife in that direction. The being above him resolved into Archer. The Captain had a cut above his eyebrow, and a nasty bruise along his chin. Malcolm’s eyes roved from the Captain, to Hoshi, to Travis, to T’Pol. There were MACOs behind them, who had fanned out and stood close behind each alien, collecting the aliens’ weapons as they went. Smart. Arm themselves, keep the weapons away from the intruders. This was – this was good. He was – his crew was back, the aliens captured, but he needed to be sure, God, he was – He was hot, sweating. Shaking. He wanted to stand down, but he needed to be sure.

“Where’s Trip? Is everyone back?” he asked, voice weak.

T’Pol lifted a quick hand to her console. “The Commander is in Engineering.” Her eyes went to Archer. “The full crew compliment is aboard, Captain.”

Archer turned to the alien nearest Malcolm. “Take your people and go.”

The alien stepped over to his crew, then tapped his device and murmured into it. They beamed out without so much as a by-your-leave.

Malcolm chuckled. This was all too much. And God, he felt like complete and total pants. He stood with a hissed in breath and took a step back, knife still raised, hand shaking more now.

Archer lifted both hands. “Malcolm, it’s okay.”

“Can I…?” Malcolm took a step back, then another. He laughed. “I’m sorry.” God, he was amped. His back hit the console behind him. “I’m not feeling…” he waved the knife vaguely.

He saw Archer nod to one of the MACOs, who stepped forward and, very slowly, reached out and took the knife from his hand. He let them. He was done. Done done done. 

“Get us the hell out of here,” Archer said, just as Malcolm felt his legs give out from under him.


	4. Chapter 4

Voices, familiar voices. Last time he’d heard those voices, there was something about a hat…

Malcolm opened his eyes, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice came from quite near: 

“How’s the arm, Lieutenant?”

“Arm?” Malcolm asked. He looked across his chest, to see his arm, encased in one of Phlox’s devices, settled there. “That can’t be good,” he murmured. Then he looked up. Trip. “I thought you were in engineering, but it was in the mess, earlier, with the hat.”

“What?” Trip said. Trip gave a laugh, and Malcolm heard a soft chuckle from beside the Commander.

“Hoshi?” Malcolm asked. And that’s when Malcolm realized Hoshi was there, standing beside Trip. He hadn’t realized he was quite so ‘out of it’, as Trip might say, but he must be, if he’d missed an entire person. “Where’ve you been?”

“On the alien vessel.” Hoshi stepped up to him, smiling nervously. “When we realized you weren’t behind us, we tried to go back to the mess, but – God, Malcolm, I was so scared.” She placed a careful hand on his good arm.

“Something knocked me out.” His eyes went to her hand on his arm, then back to her face. “When I came to, you were gone.”

“We were all on that alien ship, corralled together, all of us but you,” Hoshi said. “We didn’t know where you were, and we couldn’t even talk about it in case they were listening, just in case you were back here and they didn’t realize it.” She gave a tight smile.

Malcolm could see flashes of her old nervousness. He wondered if she had any idea of how much she’d grown over these few years.

“You’re the bravest person I know,” he said fondly.

Hoshi blushed. “Thank you?” she said, exchanging a glance with Trip.

Trip put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I think Malcolm’s feeling no pain, Hosh.”

Hoshi looked to Trip gratefully, and smiled back at Malcolm, more fully now. “Maybe we should let you get some sleep,” she said.

“Wait, wait,” Malcolm said, shaking his head, then wincing at the pain that flared there. “Why didn’t they realize there was someone on Enterprise?”

“Their sensors obviously didn’t pick you up when they beamed the rest of us out of here.” Trip’s brow crinkled as he thought. “Figure maybe because you were knocked out. That or their sensors aren’t that great at picking up individual human biosigns.”

Malcolm, voice growing weak, said, “They wanted the ship.”

“Yup,” Trip said. “I’m sure they hadn’t expected to find anyone left on board. Bet you surprised the hell out of them.”

“I suppose I did. God, the armory!” Malcolm said, suddenly recalling what had happened there. The explosion, he had no idea of the extent of the damage. He’d been in no shape to evaluate it when he’d been there. “When can I get out of here?” He tried pushing himself up, only to gasp at the pain in his arm and fall back, head spinning, heart racing, monitors bleeping.

Phlox came up as if out of nowhere. “Between the drugs you dosed yourself with,” the Doctor said as he fussed over his patient. “…the head injury you incurred, a crush injury to your arm, several cracked ribs, and the fact that you were shot with a type of stun weapon that’s quite new to us, you’ll be here for quite some time, Lieutenant.” He stepped back, apparently satisfied with what he’d seen. He gave a slight smile. “But don’t worry. The confusion should pass in the next few hours, as the drugs move out of your system, and once they are gone, I have just the creature to treat your arm.”

Malcolm groaned.

He thought he saw Phlox’s smile widen. Then the Doctor added, “One minute more, Commander, Ensign,” as he moved off.

“Don’t worry,” Trip said to Malcolm.

“Well, maybe worry about the creature,” Hoshi whispered with a wince.

“But not about your armoury,” Trip added. “We’ve already got the repairs half done. The place’ll be ready before you’re even out of here.” Trip gave Malcolm a gentle smile. “So, shot, drugged, clubbed on the head, and crushed, and still you managed to recover the crew and save the ship. You’re a man of many talents, Malcolm.”

“I’m just glad you’re going to be all right,” Hoshi added with her own smile.

Malcolm wanted to return Trip’s quip, say something about it having taken him so long to make friends here, he didn’t want to lose them now, but instead, he found himself drifting off, eyes falling closed despite his best efforts. After a moment, he felt someone squeeze his good hand, then away. Hoshi. Then Trip’s voice, “Night, Malcolm.”

The room went silent around him, but for the cheeps and chirps of Phlox’s animals. He was glad his crew was back; his friends. He recalled an old quote, from either Surak or Winnie the Pooh – he’d figure which out later: “Good friends are like the stars. You don’t always see them, but you know they’re always there.”

His friends were back on the ship. Maybe now, he could finally sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos. Much appreciated! And Malcolm was half right - the quote is from Winnie the Pooh.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment or leave kudos. I live for comments and kudos!


End file.
